That year
Huang Ling
That year, I met under the lilac tree, and you said why my smile was slightly sad and made you sad;
That year, you gently approached me, smoothed the tight wrinkles between my eyebrows, and kissed my thin red lips;
That year, in the classroom of Catholic Seven, you wrote my name on the homework paper, and the pious appearance touched the girl sitting next to me;
That year, you played the guitar and I read poetry, the sun had just risen, the moon shadow was still wandering in the treetops, and there was a breeze that sent the fragrance of flowers into the nostrils;
That year, on the day of heavy snow, we met at Xiguan Cross, and you bounced off the snow that fell on my shoulders for me, and took me into the warm milk tea shop;
That year, not to mention the future, in Donggang Road, we drank beer, and you prepared a mingren soda for me to dissolve the wine;
That year, at three o'clock in the morning, I was wearing a cold drag with my hair scattered, and each other in the moonlight looked at each other with deep affection;
That year, you chased after me sitting on the home bus, waving your hands, and at the extremely fast speed, you became a point and disappeared;
That year, I wrote twenty pages of love letters for you, and in the small house paved with red bricks, I folded a pale green thousand paper cranes and released them on a windy day;
That year, you became someone else's husband, and I married someone else's wife;
That year, we quietly enjoyed the present, never thinking that ten years later, there would be only one acre of rose petals left.
(About the author: Huang Ling, female, ethnic kindergarten teacher, a woman who likes to write, draw and draw.) ）